I'd Do Anything For You
by Kokura
Summary: Wolfram would do anything, anything at all for Yuuri to even glance his way...even give up one of the few things that truly belongs to him: his pride. YuuRam
1. An Argument and a Vendor

A/N: Came up with this while talking to Are one day. We were discussing how desperate Wolfram seemed to be (psychological analyisis and all that) and she wondered whether he'd take the chance to become a woman, should he be given it. Et voila, the story is born.

I'd Do Anything For You

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_I'd do anything  
For you, dear, anything,  
For you mean everything to me._

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Wolfram was far, far away. Far from his troubles, and far from Yuuri. Why? He needed time to think, to cry, and, if he was perfectly honest with himself, to hide. He'd left Blood Pledge Castle before dawn, taking only a few weeks' worth of supplies and his horse with him. By the time he'd felt that he'd gone far enough, his horse was exhausted, but a small town was nearby. He'd swathed himself in a beige-colored cloak, hiding his hair and eyes and trying to be a nonentity, which was rather hard, considering that for most of his life he'd tried to get people to notice him.

Slinking into town, he made a beeline for the first inn he saw, stabled his horse, went in, and requested a room for the next two weeks. The innkeeper raised an eyebrow at his guest's attire, but was stopped from saying anything by the generous payment Wolfram threw to him, as well as the fact that he really did not have any other customers. Wolfram then swept up the stairs with his saddlebags to what would be his room for the next two weeks.

He shut the door and tossed his saddlebags on the floor, then flopped onto the bed facedown, exhaustion catching up to him. Groaning with the need to sink gently into the realm of sleep, he buried his face in the pillow, rethinking what had caused him to flee the castle with such speed. It had started out as one of his usual accusations of infidelity (which, he privately admitted to himself, were usually unjustified, but could he help it if he was especially suited to his element?) but had quickly escalated into a shouting match that was so loud that it had, Wolfram was sure, probably been heard on Earth. Hurt, angry, and just a little sheepish (it _had_ been a little girl after all, but how was he to know? He'd only heard a female voice with Yuuri, and that had been enough for him), Wolfram had shut himself up in his room, ignoring the various well-meaning people who'd knocked on his door to inquire how he was faring. He'd stayed there until he was absolutely sure that everyone in the castle besides the guards was asleep, then started making the neccessary preparations for his departure. It had not at all been hard. He'd only gotten caught once, while padding quietly back to his room from his journey to the pantry for food, and that had been by one of his subordinates, who'd paled once he recognized the man he'd so rudely ordered to stop as his superior officer. Wolfram had reassured him, speaking over the soldier's stuttering apologies, that there was no harm done, and really, good job Ludwig, it's nice to see that you're doing your job properly, then left the relieved man behind him as he strode back to his room to pack what he'd taken, then climbed out the window to the stables and left his home.

Wolfram scowled. It had been a spur of the moment decision, and, now that he was thinking it through, was extremely stupid. He supposed that he'd have to send a message to his brothers; something about too much stress and taking a break might do. They would understand what he meant. He would write a letter to Greta too, and send her a present with it. Despite his disdain for humans, he'd grown very fond of Greta. Wolfram had always loved children, and she happened to be a child: capable of giving unconditional, adoring love and affection who'd appeared right when he'd needed someone like that most. He nodded to himself, satisfied. Now that he'd settled everything that had been immediately bothering him, he felt more energized. Pushing himself off of the bed with his forearms, he stared blankly at the wall for a few minutes, wondering what there was in this town to do to amuse himself before deciding that he didn't really care: he'd just go and stroll around, in essence, to go sightseeing. However, he first had to make some changes to his appearance.

Wolfram walked over to where he'd thrown his saddlebags and neatly unpacked his things, setting them up in the small cabinet as he liked, then dressed in a low-collared light cotton shirt of a stunning shade of green and wide-legged breeches in beige, and got a washcloth and his face-paint bag. Then he strode over to the small vanity table and wet the washcloth in the steel basin provided, cleaning himself off with the towel. After ascertaining that his skin was clean-or, at least, as clean as could be expected- he reached into the pouch that contained the materials he usually used in espionage assignments and drew out his face paint and hair dye. His looks were much too noticeable without them, and the coloring agents might not conceal them but could at least alter his appearance so that he didn't have to worry about someone recognizing him by hair color and complexion. (Mere makeup might not have worked for anyone else, but he'd been trained by Cheri from years of being her dress-up doll, and had he lived on Earth, could probably have been a model/celebrity or makeup artist.)

Gently opening the case that held his skin-powders so that, if they'd been disturbed by his journey, they wouldn't fly up into his face, he selected a pale shade of brown, a little lighter than Greta's skin but darker than his own and carefully applied it to all the skin not covered by his clothing, using just a touch of water so that the powder would form a sort of paste that would stick more than powder. After looking himself over in the mirror to see if he'd missed any spots, he got out the hair-coloring powder and the brush he used to apply it. Choosing a sort of light red-gold color, he dusted his hair with powder and brushed it in, gazing at the mirror the whole time to ensure that he would leave no gaps in his disguise. Satisfied at last, Wolfram delicately closed both cases and left his room, being sure to lock the door behind him. Once downstairs, he stopped briefly at the innkeeper's counter to ask if there was anything he recommended Wolfram do, and received the reply that, should the young sir want amusement, it was probably best to go to the market. After the innkeeper gave him directions, the now-strawberry blond flipped him a coin and left.

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The market was quaint, in a sort of small, crowded way. There were many people haggling over groceries at the food stands (which seemed to make up most of the market) and a few shops that sold cloth, or jewelry and other such fripperies. Stopping at one, Wolfram chose a small, exquisitely worked lily broach as his present for Greta, paid and walked onwards. Many women and a few of the men stopped to stare at him as he walked by, and a few even flirted. The blond flirted back dutifully, using the Court rules of love-games. As he was walking past a rather uncrowded stand, the merchant there chose to fling an offer at Wolfram.

"Potions, spells, charms galore! You there, young man, how would you me to mix up something that could grant any one of your wishes? Only three silvers for one, and if you buy six, I'll throw in a love-philter!"

Wolfram paused and, after wondering what had happened to his sanity (_something_ must have, or else why would he even be considering going over?) reluctantly headed in the street vendor's direction.

The man didn't seem to notice his hesitation and immediately started displaying various bottles of Shinou-knows-what to the blond, explaining in detail what each liquid, powder, or item did and expounding on their benefits. Wolfram tried his best to stay attentive and remember what everything was and what it did (after all, he _did_ need to buy something as a sort of apology for his family and the rest of them, and one of the stupid potion-things might actually work. If Annissina's inventions could work, as Make-Things-Go-Faster-kun had, _anything_ was possible) but lost track sometime between Essence of YueGuang (_Guaranteed to make your skin as light and soft as Moonlight Silk!_) and Weiss (_Gets rid of warts and scars, as well as functioning as an exceptional window-cleaning agent!_). He'd tried to escape the merchant's clutches several times, each by some polite hint that was some variation of; really, he needed to be getting somewhere and he was sure that his wares were perfectly lovely but he had no time, so maybe he could drop by next week, but none of them worked. Finally, Wolfram was fed up and desperate to get away from the man, who was in the middle of a rapturous recitation of the properties of Cow-Wort charms (_Sure to get rid of those pesky hemorroids!_), so he had no choice but to turn to his last resort: to name a potion that would do the impossible.

Interrupting the vendor's tirade about Pig's Wings syrup (_Cures colds in seconds!_), Wolfram inquired abruptly, "Have you anything that could turn a young man into a woman?"

_There. That ought to shut him up for a while_, he thought, rather pleased with himself in an evil sort of way. But not for long.

"Why young sir! Whyever did you not mention your reason for gracing my humble stand with your gracious presence before? I would surely not have wasted your time on these (_very well priced_) trifles! Of course I have one. Wait for a few moments while I brew it, if it pleases you."

And with that, the vendor -and, Wolfram now guessed, amateur potion-brewer- turned around to a small, rather grungy worktable that he hadn't seen, hidden behind the stall and the man's bulk as it was and began throwing random bits of plants and, what worried Wolfram more, dashes of some of the potions he'd attempted to sell him, haphazardly into a sort of mixing bowl, where he then proceeded to mash the concoction with just a little too much fiendish glee for Wolfram's comfort. Before too long, the mixture was pronounced finished by the maker and poured into a glass bottle that was a rather fetching shade of blue.

"Here! Usually, I'd charge you eleven silvers for that one, but as it is for young sir, I shall only require two!"

Wolfram stopped what he'd been doing (which was staring at the liquid in the bottle warily) and straightened. "Whyever would I pay you for something that does not work?!" he demanded angrily.

The merchant merely smiled (_is that a psychotic tinge I sense?_ Wolfram's brain wondered) and handed him the bottle. "Should the young sir become unsatisfied with the results of the potion, I shall gladly return all monies paid."

Wolfram sighed internally. There was nothing for it; he'd have to take the thing or risk offending the vendor. Besides, even if his conscious mind didn't admit it or know it, there was a tiny corner of his subconscious that looked at the bottle and saw something besides a dubious concoction by a questionable source: that corner looked and saw hope. After all, becoming female would solve most of his problems, wouldn't it? Yuuri would _have_ to do something if he was female; there was no way that the wimp could continue hiding behind his excuses of Wolfram not being female as a reason why he would not wed the blond. He bit his lip worriedly before deciding. There was no harm in trying it, now was there?

"I'll take it."

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	2. Decision

A/N: 'kay, so I got this done sooner than I thought, but it was posted a little later than I'd have liked. I'll still update whether you review or not, but I very much prefer it if you do. Reader response gives me warm and fuzzies.

I'd Do Anything For You

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_Just know that I'd go anywhere,  
For your smile, anywhere,  
For your smile everywhere I see._

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Wolfram walked quickly back to the inn, his mind a turmoil of emotions. _What_ had he been thinking? He spared a wary glance at the jewel-blue glass bottle held securely in his right hand and its contents. It was hard to imagine that he had the ability to change the one thing about himself that he'd thought would always remain the same in his grasp. He shuddered. His life, his world, was on the verge of being flipped upside-down by one little bottle. How terrifying.

And yet, the same part of him that had made Wolfram take the concoction in the first place was still awake, and eagerly contemplated what would result from the use of the potion. He could go back to Blood Covenant Castle (1). He could win Yuuri over. He could do so much that he had never been able to before, and what was the price? A sip of some crackpot potion; which was the stumbling point of that section of his mind's reasoning.

Wolfram arrived at his room. Closing the door, he set the container down carefully on the vanity table and began the meticulous removal of his disguise powders, which ended up taking fifteen minutes. He sighed in relief once it was all cleaned off. Although it did not weigh physically upon him, the use of a disguise always made him feel paranoid and anxious, and the removal of said glamour would always fill him with a sense of renewed freedom. His current situation was no different, and he now felt able to peruse his thoughts on the dubiously brewed substance in the bottle with more clarity.

He flopped down on the bed and thought. If he _did_ drink it, Wolfram would have no guarantee that he would not mutate horribly into some revolting freak of nature, or lose his mind, or have some other such terrifying occurence happen except for the not-too-reliable word of a stall owner. He snorted. It sounded so stupid and silly to even _think_ about drinking that stuff the way he'd just phrased it, but knew that there was a side left untouched as of yet. That corner of his mind could and would do _anything_ for Yuuri to even glance his way, and would do even more for a hint of love in the demon king's gaze towards him.

And now, as he sat meditating pensively on what Yuuri meant to him, myriad memories flashed in his mind of countless small actions on the Maou's part that whispered to him, _hope, hope; there is hope_._ Hope for his loving you. _

Wolfram knew he was not ugly; quite to the contrary, he'd received enough wanted and unwanted affection for even the most mentally incapacitated of dullards to realize that he was a rare beauty indeed. Really, what plausible excuse had Yuuri ever given as to his rejection of his fiancee besides the barrier of gender? Only that the Maou had not known about the custom and that he didn't know Wolfram well enough to marry him anyway. Well, the demon king had known of the engagement for quite long enough to break it off, should he desire to do so, and now knew Wolfram well enough that he often claimed that the blond was one of his best friends. That got rid of two out of three obstructions, leaving only the obstacle of sex behind. And now, he had the ability to remove that last barricade sitting innnocently on a table in his room. What had he to lose by trying it?

He stood up decisively. He had nothing to lose, for what was the world to him without Yuuri's love? He had everything to gain, including that which he so desperately seeked. Crossing over to the table in three long strides, he picked up the deep blue bottle and pulled out the stopper, sniffing the contents curiously. Wolfram wanted to at least smell what was inside before swallowing it, after all.

He expected a foul odor, suited to such a strange infusion, but was pleasantly surprised to note that the liquid inside at least _smelled_ quite nice; like lavendar, magnolia, and cinnamon, and chocolate and soft, soft silk. The only detriment to the overall effect was that there seemed to be a sort of bitter tang weaving in and out of the other scents, hidden the vast majority of the time. Wolfram looked, once again, at the potion, and steeled his mind. Then, he raised the bottle to his lips, mentally toasted the Maou, and tipped the draft down his throat.

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In a small room in an almost-empty inn, a golden-haired boy writhed on the floor in paroxysms of excruciating pain after having drunk out of a turquoise bottle, in so much agony that he could not feel the hard, wooden floor beneath him.

Wolfram had never felt such torment, such absolute torture, as the fire that burned him as it spread through his veins and arteries, scorching him so that he could neither see nor hear because of the white-hot flame that blazed in his mind and felt that he should never be able to heal the abrasions. He felt as though he was being cut by thousands of knives, bled to death, then painfully revived just to go through the same thing again. He sobbed and screamed at the same time, hoping and praying for an end to his pain, even death, so long as it made the fire stop.

_Shinou damn it, oh God, mercy, please, help, pain, agony, burning, twisting, **agony**...make it stop, please, please, _please_, make it stop, anything, anything for the pain to stop, help me, please, help me, help me, _**Yuuri**!

At Yuuri's name, the pain receded briefly, only to return with a vengeance but a few moments later, inflaming his nerves with such overwhelming pain that he could no longer shriek and weeping seemed pointless as it would never, never alleviate the burning torture.

But after what seemed like an eternity of suffering and anguish, the fit passed, slowly, so that first his hearing, then his sense of touch, then finally his sight returned, bit by bit, as the blazing white fire retreated and finally, he sat upright.

He really didn't feel very different. Perhaps a little sore in some places, but all in all he felt exactly like he had before taking that thrice curs'd potion. Now he saw that the vendor had obviously been a hack and a cheat. Hmph. A philter to change his gender indeed. Wolfram had known that it was a hopeless wish, a forlorn longing to want to alter something that had always been. He sighed, partially out of relief that he was still human and properly Wolfram-shaped, and partially out of frustration and a sort of sadness that the potion had not worked after all after the immense agony he had gone through. Then he looked in the mirror and screamed.

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	3. Acceptance

A/N: I was sitting on my bed reading when suddenly, my brain sent me an urgent message: GO UPDATE! And, of course, I _always_ listen to my brain. Very short chapter, though.

I'd Do Anything For You

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_Would you climb a hill?  
__Anything._

_Wear a daffodil?  
__Anything._

_Leave me all your will?  
Anything._

_Even fight my Bill?  
What, fisticuffs?_

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The innkeeper of the Singing Siren Inn, Orick, was, he fancied, a rather compassionate person. He also knew just how hard it was to lure proper paying customers to a small inn in a small town. Therefore, when he heard the piercing shriek coming from room 12, most recently occupied by one of the best-paying customers he had seen in more than three years (although, if he was totally honest with himself, the odd way the selfsame customer dressed and acted more than made up for his generosity), he ran like the wind towards the sound. Arriving at the door of his most esteemed guest, he knocked on the door and inquired, "Sir? Is everything all right?"

He heard a thump, as if something heavy had fallen to the ground, then a slight scrambling noise. "Sir? SIR?"

Just when he was about to disregard all propriety and enter his guest's room (after all, it simply _wouldn't do_ for such a rich man to hurt or kill himself...at least, not until the innkeeper knew where he kept his money), a slightly high voice answered.

"Ye-AAHSssss...I'm fine."

Ahhhh...so _that_ was how it was. Orick nodded sagely. _Obviously_ his guest had a...ehem..."female friend" inside the room with him and did not want to be disturbed, so after reminding his customer that he was available for room service (at _very_ reasonable prices), he left and trudged downstairs. There were a couple of people in the common room that were drunk enough that they didn't notice that the beer and ale they were drinking and buying had become slightly more expensive than when it had been when they had first been drinking.

---

---

---

Wolfram was staring at the mirror in shock. He was clumsy. He was disoriented. He had..._breasts._

He screamed.

That was approximately when the damned nosy innkeeper (Yorick, or Porridge, or something) came a-knocking upon his door and stuck his big, fat nose into Wolfram's business. Wolfram had tripped over his satchel in his vain efforts to get up, but had eventually gathered enough calm about him to speak, which was when he had tripped again. On, apparently, nothing. It ended up making him squeak and hiss while speaking, which was very embarrassing.

After he (she, actually, now, but he still thought of himself as a boy) had answered the innkeeper as well as he could, Wolfram spent about ten minutes sitting on the kind of-not really clean floor cursing the potion, the vendor, his brain, the Great One, and just about everything else he could think of. Damn them! Damn them all! His common sense tried to pipe in once or twice, but was quickly drowned out by the overwhelming, irrational anger that swept through his mind. At that moment, if Wolfram had been able to breathe fire, he would have burnt his room, the inn, the surrounding town, and probably about half of the world to cinders with the muffled scream he let out: such was his anger. As it was, he punched the floor instead, bruised his knuckles, and swore creatively, loudly, and angrily. _Now_ what was he supposed to do? Questions that he had not really thought about before popped into his mind. How the fucking hell was he supposed to fight in this form? What would he tell his brothers? What would they say?

A thought occured to him and Wolfram groaned, burying his head in his hands. His mother. Oh gods, his mother would be absolutely _insufferable_! He could picture it now; endless parades of dresses and frills and lace and makeup. It was bad enough when he was a boy, but now that he was a girl, Cheri probably wouldn't stop until she did something completely and utterly humiliating to him. She had paraded young men before him when he had still been physically a male, and now that he was a female in body, there was nothing to stop her from doing even more. Great One help him, but he did _not_ want to have to go through that...that.._torture_. Oh lord, and that wasn't even considering Annissina! He groaned again. He could imagine the excited inquiries already. The experiments would be _endless_...

Then, the same corner of his mind that had gotten him into this mess perked up again. In his shock and anger, he had almost forgotten the original reason that he had gotten the stupid potion in the first place for. _Yuuri_...

He could go back...yes...go back and show Yuuri how much he had done for him...but he _really _did not want his family (or Annissina) to find out about his amazing gender-change. Wolfram winced. There was only one solution: to pretend to be somebody else.

Damn.

He needed materials.


	4. Interlude at the Clothing Store

A/N: Geez, I'm sorry I've neglected you all for so long. In all fairness, though, both my editor and I have been swamped by work, her with school and Orchestra and myself with translations. By the way, Wolfram still thinks of himself as a boy, so he will continue being referred to in his thoughts and the narration (when in his 3rd person POV), and the innkeeper's name is Orick. Wolfram just can't be bothered to learn a lesser being's name, so he calls him all sorts of things. I know, I know, it's not very long, but I'm working on at least six stories and trying to pick up drawing again, which, by the way, I haven't done in six years. You can see why this is a problem. Oh well. Enjoy anyway.

I'd Do Anything For You

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_I'd risk everything  
For one kiss, everything,  
Yes, I'd do anything, anything for you._

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Wolfram scowled as he strode (or tried; striding was rather hard when one had boots two sizes too large, pants loose around the crotch and tight around the hips, and his hips kept swaying when he walked, which kind of ruined the effect, although it was debatable as to whether or not anyone could actually _see_ that through his long cloak, but it was the _principle_ that counted, wasn't it?) away from the inn and towards the market. That Yorick guy had stared at him as he walked down the stairs, then, when he had informed the innkeeper that he would be gone for a bit, Porridge had winked at him.

It had been rather disturbing.

Read: Traumatizing to the point that Wolfram wasconsidering gouging out his eyes in hopes that the horrid image would be erased.

He hadn't, in the end, but only because he already felt disfigured _enough_ with his stupid new body parts without gaping eye-sockets.

He had a feeling that in no way did he want to know what exactly Orange was thinking.

But now to the present. He had to find better-fitting clothing. His current apparel was ridiculously ill-fitting, as it was either too tight or too loose all over his present body and was thus quite indecent. He had been in his new-shaped body for a grand total of perhaps fifteen minutes, and _already_ it was making life excrutiatingly hard for him. The now-physically-female had a very strong urge to find the idiotic vendor that had sold him the curs'd thing and throttle him to the threshold of death before force-feeding him his damned potion so that _he_ could lavish in the so-called "joys of womanhood".

He would also take the time out of his busy schedule to track down the man (for it HAD to be a man) who had written that imbecilic phrase in the first place to do the same thing to him.

See how he liked the "joys" when the author found two horrendous lumps of flesh on _his_ chest.

Wolfram scowled ferociously. He had never really gotten over his mother's strange and traumatizing tendencies to play dress-up with him (the "traumatic" part was easily provable from his sleepwear; all of the frills and bows and pink he had been forced to wear had bled through into his nightgown despite his efforts to keep his normal clothing as masculine as possible) as a small child, back when he had been too young and easily persuaded to do anything about it, and, as a result, now despised with a deep, somewhat irrational, passion all dresses. However, it was rare to find a shop in this part of Shin Makoku selling women's trousers, because the female population mainly wore skirted, befrilled instruments of torture, and acquiring a pair would entail going in for measurements, fittings, and waiting for the tailors to finish. In addition, he had to be ready for his covert return to Blood Covenant Castle as...well...anybody except for himself, really, and _that_ entailed his being able to wear a dress well enough to seem female.

His plan just kept getting more and more holes in it as time went on.

Exasperated, furious, and frustrated, Wolfram stomped as well as he could in his new body down the streets of the marketplace, glaring left and right at any curious passerby that dared to stare at him, or, rather, _any_ innocent bystander that just happened to be close by, nostrils flaring like a wild horse's as he searched the streetsides for a shop suitable for his needs. He spotted one or two that looked like they just _might_ do, but all personnel inside scattered, minnows in the presence of a shark, the moment he so much as gave the barest indication that he might turn their way. It was probably a wise action on their parts: with every step he took, Wolfram became more and more irritated, and indeed seemed like he was liable to start breathing fire any moment, which, with his fire elemental powers, was probably not such a far-fetched possiblity as might have been imagined.

Perhaps they had the right idea.

However, eventually he eventually began to run out of steam (no pun intended), and calmed down sufficiently for the people in the marketplace to stop edging nervously away from him and settled on one particular store to try and find a cursed instrument of horrific, excruciating torture in (1). It looked reasonably respectable and had several dresses and tunics hanging in the window that the fashion-conscious part of him that he fervently denied grudgingly recognized as quite lovely. Wolfram entered cautiously, looking around at the various items of apparel as if they would spring to life and attack him at the least provocation (2). He flinched and winced, shuddering, at the item of apparel that assaulted his senses on his right that could not _actually_ be called clothing, since there was not much cloth covering what was supposed to be hidden in order to maintain a modicum of decency.

Actually, now that he took a second look at one of the more indecent pieces, there wasn't much cloth at all. The outfit seemed to consist of strategically placed buckles, leather, and straps.

There weren't that many of those either.

Wolfram turned away before the _thing_ attacked him and headed towards the safer-looking, more conservative OBJECTS OF ETERNAL TORMENT AND CRUCIFIXION on the other side of the building.

He could already feel his headache crescendoing to a head-splitting fortissimo (3).

Torn between his urges to rip a convenient shop lackey's eyes out, bang his head against a wall, or just set the whole bloody (4) shop on fire, the blond instead settled for massaging temples with one hand and covering his eyes with the other.

He was starting to have doubts as to the Maou's worthiness of his undertaking this - obviously horrifying - task.

All Wolfram knew was that Yuuri had better be DAMN good in bed.

* * *

(1) - In case you haven't already figured it out, he means a dress.  
(2) - Which, considering the quirky nature and often deceptive appearance of things in New Makoku, might not have been as far-fetched as it seems.  
(3) - We, the readers, can tell that Wolfram is almost to the snapping point. He's speaking in musical metaphors. Dear God.  
(4) - Please, please, please forgive me. Suffice it to say that I have been reading waaaay too much HP fanfiction lately. 


End file.
